


i'm a lost cause, baby

by remrose



Category: I Want To Go Home! - Gordon Korman
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8852083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remrose/pseuds/remrose
Summary: "What the heck is Christmas in July?" Mike says, scratching his head and leaning forward to examine the flyer pinned ever-so-helpfully to the cork board.
"The name would suggest that we possibly will be having Christmas, but in July." Rudy replies.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurelunatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurelunatic/gifts).



"What the heck is Christmas in July?" Mike says, scratching his head and leaning forward to examine the flyer pinned ever-so-helpfully to the cork board.

"The name would suggest that we possibly will be having Christmas, but in July." Rudy replies. He is not reading the flyer, his head is cranked towards the ceiling and looking at the rafters. "Did you see a crow fly up there?"

"I figured out that much." Mike says, dryly, reading the words a sixth time before distractedly adding, "And you're just seeing things."

"I'm just concerned the bird might drop some flavour into the food, if you know what I mean." Rudy says.

"Hey!" yells a voice from the kitchen.

"What do you think they're gonna make us do?" Mike asks.

"Hopefully not catch it."

"For Christmas in July, Rudy."

"Maybe we could roast it for July-mas dinner. Sounds better than anything here."

"I'm warning you!" the chef shrieks.

Mike huffs a laugh, glancing over his shoulder at the red-faced cook. "Alright, let's go, we're gonna be late."

"That's not my fault, you're the one who wanted to stare at a piece of paper for seven minutes." Rudy drawls, hands in his pockets as they leave the cafeteria.

"Christmas in July is in three days!" Chip shouts when they get close, holding a brown baseball cap to his chest, like it's his teddy bear. "We're going to be assigned each a secret santa from the cabin, so draw a name from the hat!"

"I'm not reaching in there. Who knows where it's been?" Rudy mutters under his breath to Mike.

"Only on my head, silly." Chip overhears, smiling as best he can.

"Exactly."

Mike smothers his laugh by coughing into his sleeve. He draws a name and gets the mis-spelt  _Ruby_ in cheery orange pen. He immediately has to suffocate his laugh again.

"Who'd you get?" Rudy asks.

"It's a secret!" Chip reminds them, while the other campers murmur to each other. "Now, we're going to be spending all of our arts and crafts time working on the present for your secret santa! Make sure it's something good."

"No one you know." Mike says, covertly showing Rudy the mis-spelling of his name, hidden in his palm.

Rudy's face remains passive, but Mike swears he sees a flicker of amusement over the surface. "I'm sure Ruby is a lovely lady."

"A real gem." Mike quips. "Who'd you get?"

Rudy doesn't bother to hide, showing Mike the chipper orange of _Chip_ on his slip of paper.

Mike feels glee and horror at the same time. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." Rudy replies. "We'd better get to work. He wants something good, after all."

The two of them tell Pierre that they need to gather outside materials to create their presents.

"There's lots of supplies in here, though." Pierre says, with somewhat of a knowing look in his eyes.

"None of it will do." Rudy tsks, picking up a bottle of glitter glue and frowning at it, as if it had insulted him. "Only the finest materials for my secret santa."

Pierre flickers his eyes to Mike, who has absolutely no idea what Rudy is up to, so he just shrugs.

"Alright, but don't go far." Pierre agrees, with the expression of someone who enjoys watching things go very wrong.

"I can't believe he's actually letting us." Mike says, looking over his shoulder at the arts and crafts building as they cross the grassy field towards the garbage dump.

"It's a real July-mas miracle." Rudy replies, eyes straight ahead, locked onto to the heaping piles of garbage that are looming in sight.

"What are we going to get, anyway?" Mike is content to follow, but the curiosity is getting to him. If they're gonna get in trouble for this, he'd at least like to know why.

"I saw it last week, when we were on trash duty for trying to escape by mailing ourselves home." Rudy says, as if Mike could possibly forget that particular failed endeavour. "It should still be here, I hope."

Rudy stops in his tracks. Mike almost walks into the back of him, hand on Rudy's arm to steady himself. "Woah, what's up?"

"The crow." Rudy says, contempt filling his normally passive voice.

"The what?" Mike looks over his shoulder, and sure enough there's a regular black crow perched on a very large log. It cocks its head to the side, and abruptly launches into flight, flapping away at full speed.

Rudy jumps, and Mike tries not to get elbowed in the face. "Geez, it's just a bird," Mike says. 

Rudy doesn't reply, throwing a glare in the direction that the crow flew off in, going towards the log. It's large, probably about as wide as a doorframe and taller than Rudy. It's rotted at the bottom, and discarded with the rest of the twigs and grass clippings.

"Help me move this." Rudy says, teetering it forwards like a wooden refrigerator.

"What on earth do you want with that monster?" Mike asks, already moving to help before Rudy manages to drop it on his own head. "There's no way you could make anything out of it."

"Not with my current tools." Rudy agrees, while the two of them maneuver the log inch by inch, down the dirt road away from the dump.

"What tools could possibly help?"

"You'll see."

Mike groans, and keeps moving.

He's lying on his bunk that night, trying to suck the splinters out of his hands, when Rudy suddenly appears at his side. "Alright, it's time."

"Time for sleep?" Mike replies hopefully.

"No, time to get the proper tools."

Mike gets up. At least it's not trying to escape today, since that usually ends up in being wet or cold or stuffed in a box for three hours. They creep out the door with the practice of two prisoners escaping Alcatraz, and into the dark camp.

"Where to?" Mike whispers.

"Tool shed, of course." Rudy replies.

"Of course." Mike sighs.

It's locked, of course. Rudy doesn't even hesitate, kicking a rock to the side and plucking a golden key from the false bottom.

"How'd you know that was there?" Mike asks, eyes bugging out.

"I happened to be cloud-gazing near here the other day and saw the groundskeeper open the door." Rudy says passively, unlocking the padlock and hanging it on the latch. The door swings open invitingly, and Rudy tugs on the hanging light. A plethora of tools line the walls and counters, and Mike wonders which one his friend has in mind.

For some reason, and he really should've known better, he didn't expect Rudy to immediately grab the chainsaw.

"Oh my god." Mike says, knees feeling suspiciously weak. "Rudy, you can't."

"I don't carve." Rudy replies placidly, checking the gas tank on the chainsaw. The actual chainsaw, off-red in colour and slightly rusted.

"What do you think the phobia of chainsaws is called?" Mike asks, having to grip the counter.

Amusement flashes over Rudy's face. "Common sense, I suspect."

A mildly hysterical laugh rips through Mike, and he has a moment of, _'well, this might as well happen, with how my summer's been going'_. He says out loud, "As long as we're on the same page."

They take the chainsaw, two pairs of goggles, and a flashlight, and lock the shed back up.

"I suppose this is why you made us bring the log so far from the camp." Mike comments, hoping his voice isn't shaking like his heart is pounding. Rudy carries the chainsaw as if it isn't totally a chainsaw.

"That would be the point." Rudy comments.

"Don't swing that thing so close to me."

Rudy politely holds the chainsaw on his other side. "So what are you getting _Ruby_ for July-mas?"

Mike has no idea. "That's a secret."

"She could be a very classy lady, you should get her flowers."

"Or a pearl necklace." Mike laughs.

"Only the best." Rudy nods seriously.

The log is right where they left it, propped up against a larger, living tree. Rudy and Mike lay it down onto the dirt, and Rudy starts up the chainsaw. Mike takes ten steps back, then another three just to be sure.

Rudy doesn't appear to notice, the chainsaw now alive and chugging in his hand. He pulls on the goggles, and gets the flashlight stuck in one of the branches above his head, shining down on his new project. Then he gets to work.

Mike definitely thinks that of all the crazy things they've done, this one potentially could get them the most hurt, and get them in the most trouble, but despite himself he trusts Rudy. And it's not unfounded -- for whatever ungodly reason, Rudy knows how to work a chainsaw. He lops off the rotted bottom, then gets it standing on it's new end. Then he begins to carve, like the chainsaw is a whittler's knife, and the wood is a mere twig. As Mike watches, he thins the thick wood to a smaller cylinder, getting more and more defined until the light of the flashlight becomes obsolete with the rising of the sun. Mike can't recognize what Rudy is making, but he's gone from a safe thirteen feet away to wearing his own goggles and looking curiously over Rudy's shoulder, holding the flashlight when requested.

They return the chainsaw in the sunlight, and in the nighttime they steal it again. Halfway through the second night Mike finally understands.

"It's Chip." Mike says, looking amazed at the carved wooden hat perched on the top of Woodchip-Chip's head.

"It appears to be." Rudy replies, as if he hasn't just spent ages carving it. He blows the dust off Woodchip-Chip's shoulder.

The third night goes very differently. They have just set up, Rudy planning on putting the finishing touches on Woodchip-Chip so he can present him the next morning for Christmas in July, and Mike is holding the flashlight. They have just started the chainsaw when a voice shrieks, "Stop right there!"

The two boys freeze. The Real Chip rounds the trees behind them, huffing and panting.

"I knew you were up to something!" Chip shouts, already red-faced. "What on earth is... going..."

Chip wilts, seemingly recognizing himself in the remarkable like-ness that Rudy has achieved. His furiously pointed finger curls, and his mouth falls open.

Mike has entirely lost his voice, but Rudy still seems to have his. "Well, now, how's it supposed to be a 'secret' santa now?"

"This ... this is what you made for secret santa? You made me?" Chip says, voice going impossibly shrill as he talks. "With a _chainsaw?_ "

Rudy looks at the Woodchip-Chip, at the chainsaw still running in his hands, and to the Real Chip. "Yes."

Chip's mouth opens, and whatever supersonic sound might have emerged is cut off by the swoop of a bird, a mass of black crow feathers bursting onto the scene and darting between Mike and Rudy.

Rudy jumps a mile in the air, unfortunately swinging his chainsaw. The head of the Woodchip-Chip is neatly sliced off and plops to the floor.

"Watch it!" Mike jumps back, out of the danger zone.

"Damn crow!" Rudy gasps.

"MY HEAD!" Chip screams in shock.

Mike pivots the flashlight, illuminating the decapitated wooden Woodchip-Chip head lying face-down on the dirt ground.

"Well," Rudy says.

Chip inhales, and Mike isn't at all surprised to hear, _"MILLER!"_

Considering the fact that they stole a chainsaw, they get off pretty easy. Mike figures it's because Rudy's craftsmanship on the Woodchip-Chip is truly incredible, and nobody that isn't made of wood got hurt. Chip makes them return the chainsaw, and says that he won't tell anyone else if they promise to never make him a present, ever, ever again. And they get trash-duty, of course.

The two of them are just returning from their latest escapade in the dump, peeling off sticky clothes. Rudy stops in front of his bunk, face flickering with surprise. "What's this?"

"What's what?" Mike asks, smiling because he knows fully well what it is.

"This." Ruby holds it up. It's Woodchip-Chip's head, rescued from the forest floor as Chip chewed them out and dragged them back to camp. The centre of his hat has been hollowed out and filled with long stemmed daisies and daffodils.

"Well, I tried to give it to Ruby, but since she's only a fictional entity created by Chip's apparent inability to tell apart the letter _d_ and _b_ , I figured I should give the flowers to someone who shares a remarkably similar name." Mike explains.

"You dug a hole in Woodchip-Chip's head." Rudy says, eyebrows raised just a little.

"I did."

"That's incredibly morbid." Rudy turns the 'vase' from side to side, examining it. "I like it."

"Thanks." Mike smiles.

"Now." Rudy places the head firmly on the foot of his bed, Mike supposes so that Chip will see it as soon as possible. "Onto our most important piece of business."

"Escaping?" Mike guesses.

"Close." Rudy turns hateful eyes out the window. "We have a bird to catch."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! I hope you enjoyed.  
> The title is from Fiend by The Sam Roberts Band, and the 'common sense' chainsaw joke is from a Yahoo Answers screenshot.


End file.
